Page 16 of Cursed By Gold

I nod, hesitating. Sofia is more than my bodyguard, she is my closest confidante. If anyone will understand, it is her.

"When she broke into my chambers tonight, we...had an encounter," I admit slowly.

Sofia's head jerks up, eyes wide with surprise. "An encounter? You don't mean she..."

"We had a moment. Yet she remains flesh and blood." I flex my gloved fingers at the memory.

"She touched you..." Sofia gasps, grasping the significance at once. In over a decade, no living being has made contact with my skin and survived.

"And when I kissed her, she did not turn to gold," I confess.

Sofia is stunned silent for a long moment. Then a smile tugs at her lips. "So that's why you're so eager to find this thief. She's immune to your curse!"

I shake my head ruefully but do not deny it. Sofia knows me too well. "I must learn how such a thing is possible. But she cannot be allowed to roam free."

"We will find her, and discover the truth together." Her eyes glint with renewed determination.

"Sofia," I say, "we need to be discreet. We don't want anyone else to know what we're doing. I don't know why she is after this crown or who is really behind it. If she was just a thief and it was random, she wouldn't have attempted to get the same crown twice."

She nods in agreement. "I have a few contacts in the city who can help us. They owe me a few favors."

"Good," I say. "Let's start with that. And we have to be quick. Who knows when she'll strike again." I pause as an idea forms, "What do you think about inviting her back onto our territory? Creating a trap of sorts."

"Remme, I like how you think. What do you have in mind?"

The Suitor

Scarlet

Sharp stones dig into my feet with every step, each one a fresh sting against my bare soles. My red ballgown flutters wildly in the wind, its hem catching on the cobblestones. My hair, a tangled mess, whips around my face, trailing behind me like a banner of defeat. I curl my toes, desperate for some grip on the unforgiving ground, but the cobblestones remain unyielding. Every hobbling step sends a jolt of pain up my twisted ankle, a relentless throb. I hug myself tightly, my arms a poor shield against the biting cold, shivers racking my body in waves. The night air feels like icy fingers pressing against my skin, every gust of wind a cruel reminder of my vulnerability.

Why did I not keep my cloak near me or grab something as I was escaping?

As I walk, the city seems to close in on me, the darkness swallowing me whole in its tight embrace. Every slight sound sets me on edge, as if the guards would emerge from the shadows and drag me back to the castle.

My chest tightens, each heartbeat a drum's echo in the silence of the night. Memories of the night's events swirl relentlessly—my hands clutching the crown, the cold rush of terror as the door swung open, the King's lips brushing against mine, the desperate scramble to flee. The vision of my abandoned shoe lodged in my mind, a symbol of my hasty retreat, brings a hot flush to my neck. My teeth clamp down on my lip, a futile effort to banish the thought, as my eyes lock onto the inviting glow of fairy godmother's house ahead.

As I stagger closer, my breath comes in short, ragged gasps, each step toward the humble entrance feeling like a small victory. The soft glow of fairy godmother's house is a beacon of hope. I pause, struggling to steady my breathing and calm my racing heart before swallowing hard and approaching the door.

The door creaks open, and there she stands—fairy godmother, her ethereal figure bathed in the warm light from within. Her eyes sweep over my dirtied gown and bare feet, taking in every detail before finally settling on my face. The concern in her gaze is palpable.

"My dear," she murmurs, her voice as soothing as a lullaby, "What has happened?"

Shame floods through me, my cheeks burning as I avert my gaze to the ground, searching for the right words. "I had the crown in my hands," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I got distracted and, ah, grabbed the wrong bag when I escaped." I force myself to lift my gaze and meet her eyes, feeling like a scolded child confessing a misdeed.

Fairy godmother's brow raises, a curious twinkle in her eye despite the seriousness of the situation. "Come," she says softly, her tone a blend of command and comfort, guiding me inside.

The warmth of the house wraps around me like a comforting embrace, melting away the tension that had coiled within me. Fairy godmother steers me to a chair, and I sink into itgratefully, my muscles finally beginning to relax. She busies herself around the kitchen, gathering first aid materials with practiced efficiency.

Her movements are swift and sure, yet there is a tenderness in the way she handles everything, a reflection of the maternal role she has played in my life. Once she finishes gathering what she needs, she stands in front of me and gestures toward my gown. "Let's get you out of that dress while you tell me about what happened," she says kindly, helping me out of the red ballgown and into my everyday blue and grey one.

As she tends to my twisted ankle, her gentle hands soothing the pain, I recount the night's events in halting breaths. "The ball was lovely, and everything seemed to be going smoothly. I slipped out and made my way to the King's chambers with no trouble. I admit that I probably spent too long looking at the crown, even though it was only a few moments, but I dropped the bag to carry it back in, and before I could pick it up, the King was in the room coming towards me."

Her eyes flicker with concern as she listens, her touch never faltering. "Is that how you were injured? Did he do this to you?" she asks, her voice a mix of worry and anger.

I shake my head, trying to wave off her concerns. "No, I twisted it as I was trying to escape. I should have worn my boots. It's near impossible to run in heels," I reply, my voice tinged with frustration at my own oversight.

When she finishes bandaging my ankle, she steps back and frowns slightly. "Where is the other shoe?" she asks, her eyes scanning the room as if it might magically appear.

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